The Basement
by LQ Aredhel
Summary: Finn and Kurt are home alone in the basement when Finn hears someone moving upstairs.
1. Thump

Finn is kicking ass at Call of Duty 3.

No one can beat his sniping skills, not even Puck. Puck is more of a run-out-into-the-middle-of-the-battlefield-with-a-machine-gun kind of player.

But hidden behind a half-broken wall in war torn France, picking off enemy soldiers, Finn rules.

"Yes," he hisses as he takes out the last opposing sniper. He glances across the room toward Kurt to make sure his little outburst didn't disturb his pretty-much step-brother. Kurt had been fast asleep when Finn arrived home from football practice, and he knew how hard Kurt had been working lately since the Cheerios were going to nationals next week, so Finn had tossed a throw blanket over him and let him sleep. Their parents left a note saying they'd gone out on some romantic dinner-and-a-movie date (shudder), so Finn settled on Kurt's couch, turned the TV on mute, popped in one earbud and got into gaming mode.

He was zoning pretty good, only half paying attention to Queen's "Don't Stop Me Now" and mindlessly shooting every bad guy that popped up when he heard a thud upstairs.

He froze, startled. The earbud fell out of his ear as he sat, listening closely to the silence in the house. He could hear Queen playing softly from the cushion next to his thigh, Kurt's deep steady breathing across the room, and the air conditioning coming from the vent over the door to the bathroom. Nothing else. He stared at the wall, heart thudding. Finally looking back at his game, Finn frowned at the GAME OVER screen, annoyed that he'd gotten so worked up over such a small distraction. He restarted the mission.

Still a little weirded out, Finn didn't place the earbud back in his ear.

He was eventually able to forget about the strange noise and focus on the game again, slaughtering the German army and completing the mission. His hand just moved to lift his earbud to his ear again when the ceiling squeaked. Right between the living room and kitchen. Where is always squeaks when people stepped there.

This time he doesn't notice his character dying.

Finn turned off the game, keeping his eyes on the stairs. His mom and Burt had left just before he got home, so they shouldn't be back for another three or four hours at least. So who else would be walking around upstairs?

When he got to the bottom of the stairs, Finn looked back at Kurt's bed. He could just make out the bottom half of his step-brother, covered in the blanket, behind the privacy partition. He hadn't moved. Finn momentarily considered waking up Kurt to check upstairs with him, but realizes how silly that would seem.

He turned back to face the stairs. There were no more noises. He took a deep breath. _Calm down, it's nothing_, he told himself as he made his way slowly up the stairs. _Probably the wind or...the cat..._ But there was no cat.

At the top of the stairs, Finn shook his head. _It's nothing._ He opened the door to see a man in a leather jacket turn and put a gun to his forehead.

His mind went blank, head rushing with white noise, and he felt like he was having a heart attack. The man in leather looked startled, gun shaking inches away from Finn's eyes, and he said something that Finn can't quite hear over the white noise and his beating heart and gestured with his gun. Finn couldn't breath.

Suddenly another man was in his line of sight, a mean-looking man with bushy eyebrows. He looked pissed as he grabbed Finn by the shoulder, and Finn felt himself being pushed into the kitchen, felt his hands automatically raise because he can feel the gun burning a hole into his back.

He was shoved into a chair, almost toppling over onto the floor because his arms wouldn't move to catch him, and then another man was suddenly there, all three watching him, talking, and he could pick out some words like "shoot," and "witness," but he didn't really hear until the third man slapped him hard.

His jaw was aching but his senses cleared and, though he kept his eyes on the gun, he heard when the third man, the leader, asked him who he was and what he was doing there, and he answered the best he could, stumbling over his words and glanced around enough to realize that things were missing, the stereo that used to be on the counter next to the fridge is gone, and the drawers and cupboards had been rifled through, and that these three men were robbing his house. The next question pulled his attention back to the leader.

"Is there anyone else in the house?"

And then all Finn could see was Kurt curled up in a ball on his bed in the basement, exhausted from weeks of intensive Cheerios training and unaware of the men with guns rifling through his house above his head.

Finn shook his head no, and his voice came out high and crakling when he said, "N-no, no one else." He thought about how he left the basement door open and how maybe Kurt will hear their voices and wander up to see what was going on and get that gun shoved in _his_ face.

The boss guy was staring at him with narrow eyes and Finn stared back, knowing he was a horrible liar, knowing he was shit at schooling his expressions.

"He came up from the basement?" The leader asked without taking his eyes from Finn. The guy in leather nodded and waved the gun around, "Yeah! Just popped up out of nowhere."

Finn couldn't breathe again. He felt like he was pleading with the leader with his eyes, _Please don't go down there, please leave him alone._

"Go check the basement." Mean-looking guy nodded and walked off and Finn panicked.

"No! I'm the only one, there's no one else!" He started to stand without thinking and the gun was suddenly pressed against his forehead and he froze again, practically hyperventilating.

"Gimme the gun and grab the rest of the electronics from the living room," Finn hears the leader distantly say. The guy in leather handed it over and walked off.

The boss guy stayed in the kitchen, eyeing Finn.

Finn didn't know what to do, he couldn't make himself breathe right, he couldn't make the mean-looking guy come back from the hallway.

The leader was talking to him, but Finn felt like his whole body was straining to hear something, anything coming from the basement. Things clattered around in the living room, and the leader guy was talking about how much he could get for the flat screen Burt bought just before Finn and his mom moved in, but no sounds came from the basement.

It felt like hours pass, Finn was sweating and shaking and he still hadn't heard anything. Not one sound. Why couldn't he hear them talking, or Kurt yelling or making a snarky comment and why weren't they coming up the stairs? The silence was unbearable, and Finn realized that the leader had stopped talking.

Finn couldn't help it, he had to ask, "What's going on? W-what's he doing?"

He gave Finn a slow, amused smile. "Who's in the basement?" he asked quietly.

"My brother," Finn finally admitted. He hoped for a moment that his admission would make the leader stop all this, make him call the mean guy back upstairs and they would all leave. Mostly he so badly needed to know what was going on in the basement.


	2. Scream

**A/N: There was such a great response to the first part, I worked hard to get this second part out tonight. This will probably be three or four pieces. Rating has been changed to M for mentions of child abuse and sexual situations. Thanks for the love!**

Kurt woke up to the feel of someone's hands on his bare stomach.

His first sleep-addled thought was that he must be sick, and his mom must have been soothing a tummy ache, but then he realized that the hands were large and rough and that his mom was dead and his father never touched him like that.

He opened his eyes to see an older man kneeling beside his bed, and a hand slapped over his mouth before he could scream.

He was laying on his side, his shirt had been unbuttoned and his undershirt had been pulled up to his chest, exposing his pale stomach. His hands shot up to pull his shirt down, but the man's free hand gripped his wrists and pinned them above his head, tossing him onto his back with seemingly no effort.

Kurt was exposed, shocked, his terrified eyes darting around the room looking for Finn before finnally landing back at the man now practically on top of him. It was difficult to breath with the giant hand covered his mouth and some of his nose; it smelled of sweat and dirt and cigarettes.

He didn't know what was going on.

The man filled him in.

"I'm Charlie," the man began, using the thumb of the hand holding Kurt's mouth to hike up Kurt's shirt above his nipples. He never took his eyes off Kurt's exposed chest. "My friends and I, we just decided to take a peak inside your beautiful house today, see what we could find. We found some great things, actually. Stereos, televisions, computers, you name it, you've got it. Must be nice." He slowly moved from a kneeling position on the side of the bed to climb up onto Kurt, first one knee on the far side, then snuggling his other knee between Kurt's, forcing the boy's clenched muscles to make room for him.

"Your friend is upstairs too. Or your big brother?" He glanced up at Kurt's face, looking for a reaction. Kurt just breathed deeply through his nose and focused on keeping his tears at bay. He would stay calm, wait for Finn or his dad to come. Wait for this stranger to get tired of his game, maybe beat him up a little and leave with his TV and game consoles.

"His name is Finn, right? That's what he told us. He stuttered an aweful lot though. Do you know what we're going to do to you two?" He leaned down closer, eyes still on Kurt's chest, and breathed hot, quick puffs of air onto Kurt's exposed skin. "We're going to take all your shit, and then we're going to kill you." Kurt jerked violently at the man's abrupt revelation, and he could feel himself shaking as he listened to the man's words.

"Not before I have some fun with you though," Charlie continued, breathing deeply against Kurt's chest. "Because my girlfriend doesn't let me see my kids anymore. And I do miss them. I have a 13-year-old girl, and a boy who's just turned 10. Their skin isn't nearly as smooth as yours."

Kurt couldn't help the tears that leaked out now. He closed his eyes tightly and thought maybe this man wasn't playing a game; maybe he was really here, this wasn't a dream he would wake up from or even a nightmare that he would be rescued from or that would eventually end. He let out a muffled sob when he felt the man's lips against his flat stomach, just below his ribs.

"I'm going to take my hand away from your mouth," Charlie told him. "But if you scream, then I'll have to mark your smooth skin. Do you understand? And even if you do, no one will be able to hear you except my friends and your Finn. And Finn can't do anything to help you. He's in his own trouble."

Finn was in trouble. Kurt nodded, eyes still squeezed tightly shut, focusing his frantic mind on one thought: Finn needed his help. He had to get him out of this.

The man slowly lowered his hand until Kurt could feel it hovering over his nipples. His mouth and chin were suddenly cold. He forced himself to open his eyes and his mouth began to move of its own accord.

"I'm not a kid," he whispered hoarsely, voice torn by tears. "I'm 17, practically an adult, I just look young for my age, I swear. You can see my license, it's in my wallet. There's money in there, too. A couple hundred dollars. Credit cards." He jerked when Charlie touched his calloused fingers to his nipple and ran a thumb along his ribs. His eyes closed again. He forced his voice louder, just above a whisper.

"I know my dad's pin, to his ATM card. I can get the card, I know where he keeps it. I can get you hundreds—no, thousands of dollars at any ATM. Just leave Finn here and I'll get you whatever you want." The man's thumb pushed against Kurt's bellybutton and Kurt voice got tight with his effort to control his sobs.

"My dad has friends...who are cops. If anything happens to us...he'll find you. B-but, if you leave us alone, just take the stuff...I'll make sure...Make sure he never knows that we—we saw your faces. Or threatened us. We could just forget about it."

Maybe it was the realization that Kurt won't ever forget about this, or maybe it was the feel of the man's fingers running just underneath his waistline and fiddling with the button on the front of his jeans, but Kurt couldn't bargain anymore, couldn't think about how to get out of the situation, just wanted it to stop, wanted to get up and go help Finn, to be, at the very least, _with_ Finn during this so he didn't feel so alone and so helpless.

"No no no no no," he heard himself crying quietly. "Please stop, please stop."

But Charlie just shushed him, and Kurt could feel his fingers moving faster, popping open the button to his jeans, his breathing becoming erratic as he yanked the zipper down, and suddenly Kurt freaked.

His knee dug into Charlie's ribs with just enough force that the surprise of the attack makes him loosen his grip. Kurt didn't think, just flung himself onto the floor and stumbled toward the stairs.

Charlie was behind him, tackling him to the ground, flipping him over, cutting open his cheek with his knuckles, knocking his head against the floor. But Kurt wasn't thinking anymore, not about injuries or pain, just saving himself and Finn. His knee came up again, and this time with all he had he knees the man lower, in the groin, and he didn't stay to watch him topple over.

He made it to the middle of the stairs this time before the man grabbed him and punched him again, harder, in the mouth. Kurt screamed.

"FINN!"


	3. Bang

"FINN!"

Finn gasped jaggedly, eyes widely searching the entrance to the hallway from the other side of the ktichen, trying to see something, anything to let him know that Kurt was okay. His hands clenched the chair underneath him as he swayed forward, body desperately trying to move him to the basement, to help his friend, but through his panic he could still feel that gun burning a hold in his chest.

The leader, Craig he'd said his name was, glanced disinterestedly toward the hallway and smirked, allowing the gun to fall sideways, his finger casually playing at the trigger.

"Your brother huh?" he asked, looking back to Finn. "Charlie loves kids."

"Kurt," Finn whispered, tried to scream back to let him know he wasn't alone, but couldn't make his voice work that loud, not when the echoes of his name still rang through his head, his brother's voice desperate and terrified.

"Please, what's he doing to him?" Finn begged, barely noticing the tears of frustration and stress begin to build in his eyes. "What's going on?"

Craig opened his mouth to say something, and Finn vaguely felt himself lean forward for the answer, when the man in the leather jacket suddenly appeared in the doorway to the living room and Craig walked over to talk to him. Finn couldn't hear them, not from that far away, not when his ears still struggled to pick up sounds from the basement. And he could hear sounds now, banging and muffled grunts, sounds of pain, and now he could feel the tears run down his face and his vision blurred because why did he have to be here when he could be down there with Kurt, helping him, saving him? Instead he had to climb those stairs and practically point out Kurt's sleeping body to the homocidal bastards robbing their home.

With that thought, the thought that he was the reason for Kurt's blood-curdling scream, that the intent behind it was not to ask him for help but to accuse him, Finn's vision cleared.

His head emptied, and he could no longer hear the precious noises coming from the basement, or the words muttered between his captors across the kitchen. He watched the man in leather nod and wander out of the room. He watched Craig haul the gun loosely in his hand, start to turn back to look at him, and Finn _moved_.

He didn't feel fear anymore, not of that damn gun. He grabbed Craig's arm before the man even knew he'd moved, used his football training to slam the man into the counter and barely noticed the gun fall to the floor and go off, leaving a hole two feet away from Finn's head. He used one palm to slam Craig's head into the corner cabinet above him _hard_, before he'd grabbed from behind and thrown to the living room floor.

The man in leather loomed over him for a second before he turned back to the kitchen and Finn remembered the gun lying on the kitchen floor. He scrambled to his knees, grabbed the man's ankle and _yanked_ it out from under him. The man landed hard, and Finn scrambled over his body to grab the gun and force it to his neck, and then everything was quiet.

The man under him was shuddering, struggling to take in a breath. Finn watched, mind suddenly filled with all the things that had just happened. He watched his hand shake, jerking and clenching around the gun, and he was suddenly terrified that it would fire without him even meaning to pull the trigger.

His eyes moved up, and he could see blood pooling under the leg of a chair, slowly flowing out of mess of dark hair, Craig's hair.

"Oh god," Finn choked out. He could feel the man under him pulling in deep breaths, felt his back rise and fall under the leather jacket, cold under his fingers but warmer than the metal of the gun in his other hand.

No matter where he looked, all he could see was Craig's blood.

The man beneath him was saying something, he could feel his back rumble with words, heard him begging but it's muffled and distant as something else tugs at his memory, trying to claw it's way through the blood on the floor.

His head turned to the left and slightly behind him. The door to the basement was wide open.

"Kurt."


	4. Crack

"You're strong, kid," Charlie muttered angrily as he pressed Kurt's wrists into the corner of the stair. They were halfway to the ground floor. Stairs were also cutting into Kurt's upper and lower back, but he barely noticed past the blinding pain shooting through his right wrist and up his arm, further clouding his dizzy head.

It was broken, he knew. His wrist was broken.

Charlie had him pinned there, just feet from the landing and what seemed like salvation; he felt if he could just escape the the basement, this cage he was trapped in, he might be able to breathe again.

He'd tried kicking his attacker again, but Charlie had trapped his thighs between his knees, actions quick and bruising from anger and frustration. Now, Kurt locked beneath him, crying and hurting, he seemed finished with talking and ready to move on.

Charlie moved Kurt's wrists together into one hand above his head, pulling and sharp gasp and a whimper from the small teen who clamped his eyes shut and breathed until the pain dulled and he looked back up to see Charlie's hand working quickly on his own belt.

Kurt thrashed, his head accidently flinging back and hitting the stairs under him in his attempt to distance himself from his attacker. He couldn't move! Not even his left hand could pull free from this man's one large fist, and his legs barely moved a centimeter from the man's bruising grip.

When he glanced down next, the man's fly was open and he was pulling himself out of his underwear.

Kurt opened his mouth and gasped in a breath to scream, but it was cut off with a blow to his temple that sent his head to the right, hard.

He must have been out of it for a few seconds, because when he looked up again, vision doubled and bleary, his limp wrists were free, and Charlie was focused on pulling Kurt's pants down his pale legs.

Kurt lifted his thigh, intending to knee the man in the groin again, but his muscles wouldn't work fast enough and Charlie shoved his leg back down to the stairs. Charlie must have finished, because he was suddenly back in Kurt's line of sight, and Kurt lifted a hand to push him away but only managed to paw his broken wrist across his broad chest.

His wrist didn't hurt anymore.

Kurt couldn't feel anything anymore, but he knew what was going on. Everything he'd done to stop it had failed, and he couldn't find the strength to keep trying.

And then he _could _feel a hand on the inside of his naked thigh.

An explosion shook through Kurt's head and he gasped and opened his eyes, thinking he must have died. He thought hard and realized it had been a gun shot coming from upstairs.

Charlie had stopped moving. Kurt focused on his face; he was staring at the basement door.

"What the hell?" Charlie muttered. "Craig!" Apparently there was no response, because Charlie looked upset. "Shit," he muttered and rose to his knees. Without him leaning over, Kurt couldn't see his face; it was so hard to lift his head.

Then Charlie was standing and moving over Kurt, his pants and underwear replaced, belt done, and headed toward the landing.

In a flash, Kurt imagined the situation upstairs: Finn tied up in a corner with Charlie's 'friends' beating the shit out of them, having their way with him, shooting him.

Oh god, a gun went off, Kurt remembered. Finn could be dead.

His left hand shot up, grasping at Charlie's ankles. He was too far away, but Kurt kicked off of the step just under his feet and closed his fingers around the bottom of his pant leg.

He must have caught Charlie off guard, because the older man slipped back and fell down several stairs, almost crushing Kurt's head under his boot.

Kurt grabbed harder, tried to yank his foot out from under him, anything to keep him from going up those stairs and hurting Finn any more.

Charlie's foot barely budged; his ankle shook and he cursed as he tried to remove the hand, but Kurt held strong, and when Charlie's foot was completely off the step, Kurt swung his injured hand up, wrapped his arm around his leg and yanked the man down on top of him.

Kurt felt the man's body hit his shoulder and slam down on his lower stomach, making his diaphragm spasm.

When he could breathe again, Kurt forced his head upright and peered down the stairs. It was so hard to keep his head up; he just wanted to lay back down and pass out. But he didn't know if Charlie wouldn't just get back up, march back up the stairs and hurt Finn. Kurt couldn't hurt anymore, but Finn...

So Kurt pushed himself up with his left hand and placed his feet underneath him. The wall was cold under his hand and the stairs were cold under his feet; his socks must have come off with his jeans.

It was hard to remember how he got to the bottom of the stairs, but when he looked down, Charlie was on his knees holding his chest and moaning. He didn't turn around when Kurt slunks across the room, leaning heavily against the wall as he made his way to a corner table and picked up the ceremic lamp his mother made in college.

Charlie didn't move when Kurt moved behind him and lifted the lamp above his head, swaying on the spot. Then he was on the floor and Kurt was staring at him, waiting for him to move.

Moments later, when he felt like he would throw up, Kurt slowly moved back to the stairs and collected his jeans and underwear.


	5. I'm Okay

Finn started at the violent crash that resounded from the basement.

He listened desperately, trying to hear past the painful beating of his own heart and his ragged breaths, for more sounds, but nothing came.

The man beneath him, the man in the leather jacket whose name he didn't even know, shook and wriggled in his grip, saying things that further clouded Finn's hearing.

He had to get down to the basement.

Finn suddenly didn't care about the man; the gun was no longer pointed at his own chest, so this man posed no further threat. There were more important things to think about, and the man was just another distraction.

The leather of the man's jacket had become hot under his sweaty palm. Finn let go and rose to his feet, keeping the gun pointed at the man. He glanced quickly at the blood on the kitchen floor, but didn't allow himself to think about it.

Finn backed away through the living room, sneaking glances at the basement door all the while. At first the man stilled, then stood, eyeing Finn warily. He moved carefully to the front door, breath hitched, eyes wide on the barrel of the gun.

Finn didn't care.

Finn turned and focused his attention on the basement just as he heard the front door open and slam behind him.

The basement was quiet.

Gripping the gun tightly with both hands, ready for the mean looking guy - Charlie, Craig had called him - to pop up at any moment. He kept his eyes trained on the little he could see of the basement bedroom, barely noticing the socks that lay on the steps halfway down the stairs.

When he passed the socks, Finn was finally able to see into the room. He stopped at the sight of the full-grown man lying prone on the floor, surrounded by pieces of glass and man wasn't moving, but as Finn held his own breath he could fainly see the man's back move up and down. He was alive. Finn pointed the gun at him and continued his descent.

Part of him felt relief at the sight of the mean looking guy out of commission. But he needed to find Kurt. He had to.

Finn didn't spot his brother until he reached the bottom of the stairs. The unconscious man was lying only three feet from him, and he spared him another glance as his eyes scanned the room. He swallowed hard when he spotted the throw blanket he'd laid over Kurt earlier lying on the floor next to his bed. Then he heard a watery intake of breath behind him and he turned, pointing the gun Kurt's chest.

Finn gasped in a breath; he hadn't been breathing enough, he realized momentarily. The gun jerked away from his hand to land away from all three of them, across the room next to the couch.

Kurt was there, crouched against the wall, staring at mean guy's body.

Pulling in more desperately needed jagged breaths, Finn fell to his knees next to Kurt. This time the relief washed over him, making his arms wobbly as he held them up to grasp Kurt's face. He had to touch him, feel his warm skin, to know that he was ok, alive, still alive, just like Finn. They were both okay.

It wasn't until his relief began to fade and he'd pulled back from the hug that he hadn't realized he'd initiated that he realized that Kurt wasn't okay. Finn scooted closer and flitted his hands across Kurt's split lip, his cut and bruised cheek, the blood seeping out of the wound just above his temple, then the swollen and carefully positioned wrist Kurt was curled around, and finally the vacant stare in Kurt's eyes; he hadn't even moved when Finn had pulled his body in for the hug, hadn't really noticed that Finn was there.

Finn took more deep breaths and brushed his hand over Kurt's headwound, wondering if it was making Kurt act funny. Kurt didn't even flinch.

"Hey," Finn said, practically a whisper, his hands still touching Kurt's face, his shoulders and arms, needing to feel that he was in front of him and alive.

"Kurt." He tried moving Kurt's face to meet his eyes, but Kurt kept staring ahead of him. "Kurt, hey, you're okay," Finn explained, voice becoming louder, more confident because it was true. They made it, they were okay, they could get the hell out of there.

'I should call the police,' Finn suddenly realized. He looked around the room for his cell, remembering vaguely that he'd left it around the couch. When he'd been playing video games what seemed like days and days ago.

"I'm going to call the police, okay Kurt?" He tried, grasping Kurt's shoulder tightly. "They're going to come and take these guys away, okay?"

Kurt pulled in a watery breath, then his head slowly turned and, without taking his eyes of the body in front of him, he whispered, "Finn?"

"Yeah! I'm here, you're okay, we're both okay!" Finn almost felt like laughing, except the look on Kurt's face hadn't changed. "What are you watching?" he finally asked.

A tremor seemed to pass through Kurt's body. His lids lowered and he turned his head forward again. "Making sure he doesn't move," he muttered, head falling forward slightly at the effort.

Finn nodded, confused. His chest started aching, because Kurt didn't look well. He looked tired and ...dead. But he was okay, because he was upright and talking and breathing, sort of, and alive! Right?

Wrapping his large hands around Kurt's pale face again, Finn tried to make eye contact. "He's not gonna move, okay Kurt? If he does, I have a gun. I have a gun, okay? I'll shoot him, I swear to God I will, so don't worry. You're okay. You're okay, alright?"

Kurt turned his head again, slowly, and their eyes finally met. "I'm okay," he repeated.

Somehow the words only made the pain in his chest grow, because the way Kurt said it only convinced him of the opposite.

"I'll protect you, okay?" he reassured his friend. His brother. Kurt just looked at him, eyelids low, pupils uneven, mouth open slightly as he pulled in what looked like painful breaths.

Finn was having a hard time breathing again.

He sat back on his haunches and allowed Kurt to focus again on the mean guy's body. Finn closed his eyes and pulled in a few steady breaths. His chest was so tight, it felt like his lungs and heart were being crushed. Kurt was whispering something under his breath, and Finn felt like he couldn't look at him anymore.

His phone was on the arm of the couch. Finn kept an eye on the body, just in case it did decide to move, and the other on the gun on the floor in front of him as he dialed 911. He never wanted to touch that gun again, but he would. He would keep his promise and protect Kurt. No one would touch him.

Kurt continued his muttering a little louder while Finn waited for the operator to pick up and ask him what his emergency was.

"S-huh." He took a couple of breaths and started again. "Some guys broke into our house and stole our stuff and held us captive and...I don't know what else."

"Okay where are these men now?"

"One's upstairs...he might be dead. There's one here, knocked out. The other one left."

"Are you in a safe place?"

Finn's eyes slid back to Kurt, rocking slightly against the wall as he watched his captor for any movement.

"He might wake up," Finn told her.

"Okay, you need to get to a safe place away from the robbers. A couple of officers and ambulances are on their way."

"M-my brother's hurt too." Now that he'd looked at Kurt, he couldn't take his eyes off of him. The blood from his temple painted the entire left side of his neck red.

"Can you describe his injuries?"

"Yeah, uh, he has some cuts on his face, a bad one on his head. I think his wrist is broken." Finn moved closer, watching Kurt's lips move over and over again.

"You need to put pressure on any wounds that are still bleeding and try not to move his hand or arm too much. Can you do that?"

Finn nodded, concentrating on grabbing cloth from the endtable and crouching next to Kurt's other side.

"Are you still there?"

"Yeah."

He moved the cloth to the still bleeding wound above Kurt's temple and applied slight pressure. The smaller boy's head moved slightly to the right, but he didn't flinch away or show any sign of being in pain. His lips continued to move, and Finn struggled to hear what he was saying over the sound of the operator's continued instructions.

"I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay," Kurt repeated the words over and over again, his lips barely moving and his eyes still locked on the intruder. Finn forgot about the phone, dropped it somewhere and scooted closer. His hands found Kurt's shoulders, face, neck again as he desperately tried to convey to Kurt the relief that he'd felt minutes ago. Kurt was warm, awake, alive, he _was_ okay.

"Hey," Finn said again, stomach twisting when Kurt didn't turn to him. "You are okay, you're fine, Kurt. The ambulance is coming and you can go get fixed up, good as new."

Kurt continued his chanting but nodded his head, bottom lip quivering, so Finn knew he was listening.

"We're both okay," he continued, pulling Kurt's head in against his chest, wrapping his arms around Kurt's shoulders so that neither of them could see the body anymore. "We'll get you fixed up, and by the time we get back, these guys will be gone and our parents will be fauning over us. We'll get special treatment for weeks, it'll be great. Okay?" He felt Kurt nod against his chest, and Finn had to remind himself of his injured wrist so he wouldn't pull him tighter, into a real hug.

He felt Kurt's shoulders stiffen and begin to shake. And then Kurt was crying, his chanting continuing as he throat tightened and his breath hitched with sobs.

Finn gave in and pulled Kurt so the smaller boy was practically on his lap, and chest to chest they sat until Kurt's sobs slowed and his chanting stopped.

"You're okay," Finn reminded him, and he felt Kurt just nod again and pull in a shaky breath. Finn released him carefully and leaned him against the wall. Kurt's eyes were closed, his face finally begginning to lose the tension pulling it tight as he fell asleep...or passed out. Finn wasn't sure, he just felt relieved that Kurt wasn't staring straight ahead anymore. Or crying.

That's when Finn noticed that Kurt's pants were unbuttoned.


	6. Roar

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. This part is a completely different story, so I sort of had to change my mindset for it.**

Finn watched Kurt sleep. The relief that had rushed through him at seeing his brother alive and safe had vanished in the past two minutes. Because Kurt wasn't okay. He was hurt, and upset.

Finn kept looking down at his unbuttoned pants.

They could have come undone while Kurt was sleeping. He'd obviously fought with his attacker, so it could have happened then as well.

Then why were Kurt's socks still halfway up the staircase?

Now that he'd passed out, Kurt's body was relaxed, legs splayed out in front of him, arms at his sides. Finn scanned his body. Were there bruises underneath his clothes? Did the guy try to take his pants off of him? Did he succeed?

Sirens roared in the distance. The ambulance would be here soon. What should he do?

It was just like when Finn had been upstairs, trapped in the kitchen with the man and the gun, not knowing what was happening in the basement; he was helpless to protect him, useless, even sitting in front of him.

Finn wanted to button Kurt's pants. They weren't even all the way zipped up. What if they did just come apart accidentally? What would the paramedics think? What would Burt think? And his mom?

Charlie groaned behind him, maybe starting to wake up. Finn remembered that he was supposed to go somewhere safe, away from the intruders. He just couldn't. He couldn't move Kurt.

He heard the sirens stop outside the house and people moving around upstairs. Finn closed his eyes and took a deep breath, telling himself firmly that it was the paramedics. He moved closer to Kurt so he could hold onto his arm; he just felt better when he could touch him.

The paramedics were in the kitchen, Finn could tell. The ceiling above him squeaked and he remembered Craig, lying across the floor with blood pouring out of his head. The footsteps moved to the living room.

"We're down here!" Finn called out, casting one last glance at the unconscious man behind him before reaching down with shaking hands to zip and button his stepbrother's pants.

Three guys in suits hustled down the stairs. One of them asked Finn if he's ok, while another looked at Kurt, feeling around his head, wrist, and ribs, and the last guy checked Charlie's pulse and head. Finn told him about his chest pain and let the guy push on his ribs before being told that he was fine. Kurt and Charlie were soon on stretchers and being carried upstairs while two policemen approached Finn, stopping him from following the paramedics.

"Do you live here son?" One asked him. They were both older guys, and Finn just wanted to follow Kurt and at least be there when he woke up. Maybe he shouldn't have buttoned his pants? What if he's...hurt, and the paramedics don't know it? Finn's chest still hurt really bad.

"Yeah," he finally replied. He told them his name and what had happened to him. They told him that Craig was dead, probably died on impact, and that it was very apparently self defense but he should still not leave the state any time soon. Finn just nodded numbly. They'd just told him he'd killed someone and then wandered up the stairs discussing lunch options.

He had to get to Kurt.

One ambulance was still on the street when Finn went outside, and he watched as Craig's body was lifted onto a stretcher, zipped into a black bag, and loaded into the back of it. His breathing picked up again. He looked over at the policemen, but they weren't paying any attention to him, just standing around chatting and writing in notebooks. Finn had never wanted to see his mother so much in his whole life.

Half an hour ago he'd been playing video games and now he was a murderer. And Kurt...

By the time Finn finally found Kurt's keys and made it to the hospital, Kurt was settled into a room. He looked tiny in a blue hospital gown and white cast, his hair in disarray from gauze and the right side of his face covered in bruises. But he was awake. Sort of.

Finn rushed in, feeling another shudder of relief wash through him and being able to touch his living friend again.

"Hey, Kurt," he half-whispered. He received only a dazed gaze in return. "How are you feeling?"

Kurt sort of shrugged. Finn's hand found his arm again and his other took Kurt's hand.

Finn had to ask. He had to know. "What happened in the basement, Kurt?"

And Kurt looked geniunely confused, then just tired. "Nothing," he answered just as quietly.

Finn wanted to tell him about the zipper, the button, to ask him why ...it just seemed so awkward and Kurt looked so tired. Overwhelmed with guilt, Finn watched him fall asleep instead.

A doctor, Dr. Stone, appeared in the doorway fifteen minutes later to check Kurt's chart and tell Finn that their parents would be there any minute.

Finn couldn't take it anymore. He wouldn't be able to take it if Kurt were hurt and he couldn't get help because Finn hid it from everyone.

"His pants were unbuttoned!" he blurted out to the doctor.

"Excuse me?"

Finn breathed. "When I found him, his pants were unbuttoned and kind of unzipped."

The doctor looked surprised. "Okay. You're saying you suspect sexual assault?"

Finn felt the blood leave his face. That _was _what he was trying to say.

"We can ask your brother when he wakes up," Dr. Stone offered.

"He may not tell," Finn blurted out. "He keeps stuff like that inside, you know? Bullying and being hurt..." He was just rambling, he knew.

"We'll see what he says," the doctor said firmly. "I'll talk to his father when he arrives about running a rape kit."

Finn nodded, feeling sick, guilty. He looked back at Kurt as the doctor left. He was so small and pale in the hospital bed. Craig had said that Charlie liked children. Was that what he'd meant? That he _liked _liked children?

He had to leave.

Just as he turned down the hall, Burt and Carole came rushing off the elevator. 

"Finn!" his mother cried, looking terrified.

Finn froze, eyes on Burt.

"I'm sorry!" Finn promised, unable to move forward. "I'm so sorry Burt. I tried to protect him, I couldn't do anything! I'm sorry." His chest was tightening up again, his whole head too, and when his mom swung her arms around him and squeazed him he wasn't embarrassed that he sobbed into her shoulder.


	7. Lost

Kurt woke from a deep, comfortable sleep to his dad gently shaking his shoulder and calling his name. His mind was blissfully blank, cloud pillows obscuring distant thoughts and worries until the question floated to the front of his mind; why would his dad be waking him up?

Was he late for school?

No panic made it's way to the front of Kurt's mind like he'd expected at the thought. He simply felt that, as long as he didn't move or speak or think, he could stay in this hazy bubble of comfort forever.

The room was full of people.

A pair of women in scrubs moved around one side of the room setting up and fiddling with equiptment, and an older man in a white coat stood at the end of Kurt's bed, watching him. Kurt felt his throat tighten at the sight of him, and quickly looked back at his dad.

Burt was crying.

"What happened, Kurt?" he was suddenly asking. He'd been gripping his son's hand in both of his, Kurt realized, gripping it hard. But it didn't hurt.

"What happened?" Kurt repeated. Things were moving too fast, the nurses were whipping back and forth, pushing trays of instruments up against his bed, and his father kept talking to him.

The man kept watching him, waiting for something. Kurt felt like he should shift away, toward his father.

Burt touched his shoulder, and suddenly Kurt remembered Finn touching his shoulder and holding him.

"Finn?" he asks, that fluffy comfortable cloud slowly dispersing.

"Finn's fine, buddy. He's outside with his mom," Burt assured him. Kurt nodded, knowing that he'd been worried about Finn, but he wasn't sure why. "What happened?" Burt asked again. "Back in the basement?"

Right, the basement, Kurt thought. The cloud was almost gone now. His head ached distantly, along with the hand that his dad wasn't gripping. The basement brought cold and darkness to Kurt's mind.

They were so spotty, his memories, but he told his dad the pieces that came to him.

"There was a man," he began, trying not to look at the man in the white coat. "I woke up and there was a man in the room." Burt nodded and Kurt turned to the ceiling as more images came back to him.

"He said he was going to kill us. Both of us. Me and Finn." From the corner of his eye, Kurt saw his father drop his head to his hands.

"He kept touching me," Kurt recalled, seeing the flashes of rough hands on the white ceiling. He could almost feel them on his skin, knew that if he thought too hard about it he would be back under that man. "And hitting me." The man in white was scribbling on his clipboard. Kurt squeezed his dad's hand.

After a few moments of silence, Burt's head raised. Kurt looked at him and felt a twinge of guilt at the wet streaks across his father's face. "What else?" Burt asked. Kurt shook his head, confused.

"Were you raped?"

Kurt jerked his head to meet the gaze of the man in white. He felt his dad's hands on his shoulder and neck and turned back to him.

"We need to know, Kurt. You could be hurt, so we just need you to tell us," Burt said, eyes red rimmed but voice strong as he held his son's neck in his large hand.

The cloud was gone now. Kurt's head was pounding, his muscles all sore and stiff. It was so hard to think, because any attempt to delve further than those flashes of memory made his head feel as though it would explode. He could only conjure fuzzy images of his time on the stairs, of his hands being held over his head and his pants being unbuttoned...

"I don't know," he finally answers.

Both nurses and his father and the man in white are all looking at him now, all quiet and waiting and expecting him to know what's happened to his own body, how he was hurt, but he honestly didn't know. And suddenly he was terrified.

"I don't know," he repeats, his breath hitching and his eyes burning with tears. Because how could he not know? It's his body, his skin, his self, and he couldn't even remember whether or not that man had raped him?

Huge breaths suddenly turned into huge sobs as Kurt tried to push it out of his mind. His dad was closer now, arms wrapped around his shoulders as best they could with Kurt half laying down; he could feel his own fingers gripping the frabric on the back of Burt's jacket.

He pushed it all away, called back the clouds.

They were darker now, but the images retreated with the question of what had happened to him. His dad was kissing his forehead, running his hands through the hair on the back of his head, below a tight bandage.

The man in white began speaking again, and Kurt kept his eyes fixed on the top of the doorframe across the room.

"We're going to run a rape kit to make sure you're not hurt. You can have your dad stay if you want, Kurt. It's completely up to you."

Calmness settled over his mind again, a numb blankness that was no longer comfortable, but so much better than the panic and pain and hurt from before. He simply lay quietly, trying not to feel.

"This is Nurse Carter," the man continued, presumably introducing one of the woman in the room. "She'll be conducting the exam, and she'll explain what's happening every step of the way. If you have any questions, just let her know, or she can come get me for you. Okay?"

Kurt nodded, aknowledging that he heard what was being said.

"Do you want your dad to stay?"

His eyes flickered over to his dad, who was watching him, expression determined, and Kurt's resolve slipped a little at the thought of him leaving.

"You don't have to," he decided, turning back to face the door.

The doctor said a few more things and left with one of the nurses. Burt's hand never left Kurt's.

**A/N: Stupid, I wrote this whole chapter, then finished the last line, clicked save, and started crying. **


	8. Breathe

**A/N: This chapter and the next are dedicated to DustyDreams, who gave me the polite and amazingly romantic poke that I needed in order to remember that I have a lot left to do with this story. xoxo**

Finn was listening to himself breath.

He still couldn't get quite enough air to stop the burning in his lungs. When he stopped focusing for a moment and thought about Kurt, about what was going on in the room just down the hall from the waiting room, his breathing became short and quick, and his vision became spotted. So he'd start listening again, focusing closely on taking deeper breaths. It cleared his head, but still wasn't quite satisfying enough to make the burning go away.

His mom was in the chair next to him, one hand on his arm, the other on his back. He didn't think she noticed what he was doing, because her eyes stayed on the hallway, waiting for Burt to reappear. But her presence, her hands on him, felt like warmth and comfort seeping just into his skin. Just not quite making its way past the surface.

When Carole stood, pulling Finn up with her, he'd almost forgotten where he was. Burt was in front of them though, and Finn forgot all about his breathing.

"They didn't find any evidence of rape," Burt announced. Finn felt himself nodding, because it made sense; something like that just couldn't have happened to Kurt. Carole pulled away and embraced Burt tightly before they both sat down, Burt right across from Finn.

"What happened?" he asked. Burt's cheeks and eyes were red, his hands shaking even as he clasped them in front of them and leaned toward Finn.

Finn nodded. "I was just playing video games," he recalled, forcing the words out quickly, "and I heard footsteps upstairs, so I went up to look and there were these guys and they had a gun."

Burt pursed his lips and looked like he would start crying again. This was completely different from telling the police.

"They made me sit down in the kitchen, and they asked me if there was anyone else in the house," Finn continued, wringing his hands. "I said no." He couldn't look Burt in the eyes. "I swear to God, Burt, I told them that there was no one else in the house, but they didn't believe me, and one of them went down into the basement, and I didn't know what he was doing, and there was no noise!" The spots were coming back into his vision, white and fuzzy and crowding into the peripherals of his sight. He grasped the edges of his chair.

"I killed someone," he heard himself blurt out, just as two men in blue uniforms came into his line of sight. Police officers, he realized, flanked by a nurse in pink, and then he couldn't breathe at all, just gasped, trying to relieve the burning.

Someone was pulling him up again, his mom, and leading him away from the chairs and talking to him.

"Finn, you have to calm down, you have to breathe," he heard someone say, not his mom. Then he was in another hospital room like Kurt's, sitting on an exam table with a man's face inches from his, telling him to breathe slowly and deeply. He tried, and it was so hard, so painful at first, but he was finally able to take deep breaths like the man was doing in front of him, and the spots started going away again.

"Is he okay?" That was definitely his mom from somewhere in the room. The breaths were a bit easier now that he knew she was still near, and didn't that make him feel like a baby?

"Finn," the man said, staring him directly in the eyes, hands heavy on his shoulders. "You're okay, your lungs are fine, you're just having a panic attack, okay? You've got to breathe slowly and deeply and try to relax and clear your mind or else you're going to pass out. You got that?"

He nodded.

"Keep breathing for me while I talk to your mom, okay? I'm going to get you some anti-anxiety meds to help out."

Finn closed his eyes and just breathed in and out slowly, listening to the murmur of the doctor talking to his mother. For a while there, he'd really thought maybe his ribs were broken, or his lungs had popped or something. He didn't feel like he was panicking…just overwhelmed. How could that make his chest hurt so badly?

When he opened his eyes the doctor was gone. His mother was rubbing his back again; he hadn't even noticed. His breathing was steady and slow.

"Baby," his mom suddenly let out quietly. He realized she was crying when she wrapped her arms around him gently and his shoulder became wet. "You're okay. Let's go now, alright?"

"Home?" he asked, because he didn't even want to picture the house right now, not with the blood in the living room and the mess in the basement.

Carole pulled back to look at him. "We're going to stay in a motel tonight. Burt's staying here with Kurt; he just has to stay overnight because of the concussion. Then tomorrow, we can go back to the house and clean up before Kurt comes home, okay?"

Finn slowly thickly, taking even deeper breaths.

"But, Finn," she continued, "If you want to go over to Rachel's tomorrow, or Puck's, you can. I can take care of the house if you don't want to see it."

He felt relief at first, then realized that if he went to Rachel or Puck, he'd have to tell them what happened. And they'd flip.

"No," he finally said. "I want to stay with you. I'll help you clean."

Carole held his face in her hands and kissed his forehead. And then Finn felt like, after all this, when he finally washed the blood from the kitchen floor with his own hands, it really would be over. He'd really feel safe again.


	9. Non Feeling

**A/N: Once again dedicated to Dusty Dreams. Soundtrack to chapter: **_**Broken Open,**_** by Adam Lambert. Props to Lazy Girl, btw, you made me think. **

Kurt's right wrist was broken. Earlier that morning, his hand had been swollen and red, but when he walked back into his house around noon the day after the break-in, most of his hand and right arm were covered in a hard white cast. He couldn't feel it at all.

He couldn't feel the stitches in his head, the cut on his cheek, his still swollen black eye, or the clean red cut down the side of his lip made by a small gold wedding band.

He didn't feel anything.

Vicodin numbed his entire body and made it easier for determination to numb his fuzzy mind.

Burt led him to the couch and Finn and Carol hovered around him, talking about cleaning crews taking care of the kitchen and police officers coming by later to take a report on what was stolen.

The television was gone from the entertainment center; so were most of the DVD's, the DVD and BlueRay players, the antique record player from the corner, the speakers that used to be screwed into the wall, the desktop computer, the entire stereo system that took three men from Best Buy to haul in last Christmas...

Kurt wondered what else is gone, but the couch is really comfortable, like a cloud.

Burt, Finn, and Carol hovered for a while, and Kurt didn't even mind. It was nice to have people around, in the same room as him, watching him. He felt like he should be upset, but he just felt okay, comfortable and blank. Finn eventually settled into the desk where the computer used to be, seemingly studying something for school though the book looks like it's never been opened. Burt and Carol went into the kitchen. Kurt watched the wall where the TV used to be.

Through his soft haze he realized that he should do something; read a book, do some homework, sleep. He was so tired. But he didn't want to lay down and close his eyes. Maybe some music? He wondered if his iPod was stolen.

It should have been in his bag in the basement, and when Kurt carefully pushed himself up from the couch, wobbling slightly as the floor beneath him sways, he really intended to go down and get it.

But when he opened the door to the basement, he remembered the obstacle standing in his way is insurmountable. He toook a quick step back. If he tried to walk down those stairs, he ...

Could get trapped again?

Maybe won't make it back upstairs?

Maybe he'd yell for someone but no one would be able to hear him.

He can't see all the way down there. What if someone is there?

He closed the door and stared at the back of it.

"You okay?"

Kurt jumped, felt his heart skip around in his chest as he jerked his head to see Finn watching him from the desk chair. Finn looked scared.

"Yeah," Kurt heard himself say. His voice sounded muffled and distant, but he walked closer to Finn. "I just wanted my iPod. Do you know if ... it was taken? Or anything?" He was leaning against the wall. The cold was seeping through his sweater into his skin.

Finn shook his head, eyes widening. "I don't know, I can go check!" He was racing past Kurt before he could turn, and then the basement door was open again. Kurt moved back to the couch, suddenly too tired to care that all he felt like doing was watching the wall.

"Here's your bag!" Finn popped up in front of him holding Kurt's leather satchel out, eyes still wide, brows high, waiting for a response as Kurt settled the bag on his lap and slowly went through it with his left hand. His iPod was right at the front, earbuds plugged in, waiting for him.

"Thanks, Finn," Kurt breathed out. He felt something like relief. "I really wanted to listen to it," he assured his pretty-much brother when Finn continued to watch him. Finn just nodded after a moment and tried to smile as Kurt placed the earbuds in his ear (strange with only one hand), then he moved back to the desk.

Kurt scrolled through his music, eyes bleary, not knowing what he was looking for, before finally settling on a his nighttime playlist.

His dad and Carol moved in and out of the kitchen over the next few hours, sometimes talking to Finn, sometimes asking Kurt questions like whether or not he was hungry or wanted a shower or needed anything. When the sky was just beginning to darken outside, Kurt felt an ache begin to move down his arm to his hand and wrist. He watched the wall and listened to soft music he could barely hear and didn't really recognize as the ache grew into a grinding, then stabbing, pain. He settled his good hand over the cast but his wrist was distant, his skin untouchable.

Burt knealed in front of him and reached toward his face. Kurt felt himself flinch. He kept his eyes closed as his dad let out a soft sigh and carefully removed on of the earbuds.

"Finn and I are going to the store. Just for a little while. To get a temporary TV, maybe some DVD's, just so we have some noise in the house, okay? Something to do while you heal up."

Kurt realized that Finn was standing behind and to the right of his dad, fidgeting with hands hands, shifting around as he watched Kurt.

"We'll be back in an hour tops, and Carole will be here with you, okay? She'll sit in here with you and hold onto her cell phone just in case, but you'll be fine. Alright, Kurt?"

Kurt nodded. "Yeah, that's fine." He felt a slight pinch in his stomach, but it was overwhelmed by the burning, stabbing in his wrist.

"It's time for you to take your pain meds anyway," Burt announced as though he could read his son's mind. He fiddled around with an oranged bottle then passed Kurt a small white pill. "I'll get you some water. Are you feeling okay?" Kurt nodded, placing the pill on his tongue.

When he woke next his earbuds were digging into the side of his face. He was sprawled out on his left side on the sofa, a comforter tossed over him. His wrist ached again.

It was dark out now. Kurt slowly sat up, cradling his casted arm and looked around for his dad. Finn was curled up on the loveseat, his lanky form squished into a pretzel. He was still in his jeans and t-shirt.

A white pill and a glass of water lay on the coffee table in front of Kurt. The comforting white wall had been replaced by a 32in flatscreen, plastic still covering the front.

Kurt took his pill and watched Finn sleep.


End file.
